


Don't Be Afraid (You're Already Dead)

by littlesnowpea



Series: until your breathing stops [1]
Category: Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - A Little Less Sixteen Candles (Music Video), F/F, Genocide, M/M, Magic, Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-18 21:38:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2362991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlesnowpea/pseuds/littlesnowpea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You act like this is my fault!” Brendon surprises himself at the fierceness in his own voice, but only for a minute before he charges on, words pouring out of him like a waterfall. “Like I chose this, like this is what I wanted for myself! I didn’t ask to be turned. I never even met Pete before that night. You think this is what I would have chosen in that moment? You think if I had the option of being turned and being tormented every day or just letting myself bleed out in a fucking alley I would have chosen this?”</p><p>“You -”</p><p>“No! Shut up! I’m not done!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Be Afraid (You're Already Dead)

**Author's Note:**

> This is loosely (loosely! the key word is loosely!) based off the Sixteen Candles video. Loosely.
> 
> Contains mentions of graphic violence, attempts at genocide, and torture so if that's not your thing, turn back now.
> 
> Also contains racism and hatred in the form of violence and slurs. Although it's all made up and not directed towards the human version of race, it can be troubling and potentially triggering to some. I don't know what the archive warning is for that or I would have used it. 
> 
> Still here? Awesome. A few things to note, to make reading easier:
> 
> Sangsue is French for leech.
> 
> The genocide in this fic has been going on in this universe for a long time. 
> 
> Humans aren't very nice.
> 
> A gifset for a scene was made by tumblr user gabewilliam, go look at it because it's amazing. 
> 
> Alright, let's do it.

It’s sunny today. 

Brendon’s pretty sure it is, at least. He’s achey and tired and Pete says that’s what happens when it’s sunny. 

But Pete’s territory is tucked deep in the forest, so deep that the sky isn’t visible through the leaves. Sunlight doesn’t trickle down here much, and it’s always dim.

It’s perfect for them, at least, and Brendon will gladly take living in so much isolation if it means he’s not confined inside to avoid sunlight. He gets antsy when he’s trapped inside. It drives the rest of them nuts, as Brendon’s constant pacing wakes them several times - Brendon can’t sleep during the day and he can’t sleep at night. He barely sleeps. It probably pisses everyone off.

Brendon can’t help it, he’s new to all this. Everyone else in Pete’s group was born into their race, but Brendon was turned by Pete. Everything is so new to him, even two years after Pete saved him. He still forgets basic things and not many people have patience for him.

Ryan in particular can’t seem to stand him, although it might have more to do with how much he seems to want to be Pete’s second in command rather than any personal issue with Brendon. 

Brendon tries to ignore all of that because it’s already more than he expected to even be here. Pete had no obligation to keep Brendon after he turned him. Patrick says Pete rarely does. Sure, he turns people to save them, but keeping them around?

It doesn’t happen much. Having turned vampires is a risk, a liability, and not one Pete is too keen to take now that the Sangsue have gained more power. Brendon tries not to read too much into it. 

Brendon settles back against the wall of the building they occupy. He’s really, really hungry, but he wraps it up tight and pushes it down. He gets hungrier than the rest of them, but their resources are limited and Brendon’s struggling to get used to eating once a week like the rest of them, but he gets so dizzy that it’s hard. 

He feels guilty every time he pleads for food, though, and he can’t bear the thought of disappointing or frustrating Pete so he refuses to eat other than when the rest do. 

Brendon sighs and tilts his head back, closing his eyes and breathing deep. Maybe he has time for a nap before Pete needs him for something. 

\--

_Brendon was turned just after his eighteenth birthday. It’s approximately 110% his own fault, too, because Kenny told him not to go to the bar._

_He went anyway, of course, because his new fake ID was just another fuck you to his parents and he was eager to exercise that any chance he got._

_Getting sloppily drunk and following a strange (but incredibly hot) dude out of the club was not in his plan but he couldn’t care because he was still a teenager and was beyond turned on by the guy’s wandering hands and deep kisses._

_He thought he was in slightly over his head when the guy dragged him around the corner and got his pants down, but Brendon wasn’t saying no, not when the fingers in his ass felt amazing and he was dizzy with the anticipation of finally losing his goddamn virginity._

_It got a little hazy after that, but he managed to get his pants on again (incredible, considering the combination of alcohol and an amazing orgasm gave his coordination a lot to be desired) and was just wondering how exactly he was going to get home when he was shoved hard against the brick wall. His head bounced off the wall and stars exploded behind his eyes, but he threw an uncoordinated punch nonetheless._

_He could make out three shapes, and his fist was caught carelessly in a vicelike grip. He stared, gaping, and he heard a female laugh before he was grabbed and thrown to the ground, hard._

_The last thing he remembered before he woke up again was a pinching sensation at his neck and a horrible burning starting from his heart and spreading up through his veins._

_He didn’t even get a chance to scream._

_He woke up later, flat on his back, Pete hovering above him, mouth covered in blood and Patrick asking worriedly if Pete had managed to save him._

\--

“Brendon. Brendon. Brendon.” someone kicks lightly at Brendon’s foot. “Wake up, come on.”

Brendon groans and blinks his eyes open, looking blearily up at Patrick, who was carrying … something.

“What?” Brendon asks hoarsely. How long had he been asleep? It was dusk now, Brendon could tell, because the light around him had dimmed and Brendon’s vision was much better. Why had no one come looking?

“Sit up, here,” Patrick murmurs. He sits next to Brendon and wraps an arm around him. “Pete sent me out here. You haven’t been eating.”

“I’ve been eating fine,” Brendon mumbles in protest. “I eat with everyone else.”

“Yeah, that’s not enough for you,” Patrick replies. “And you know it and so does everyone else because you’re too tired, all the time. You need to eat more.”

“I can’t,” Brendon whispers, staring at the ground. If he still had a pulse, it’d probably be racing. “I can’t take that much when there’s barely enough to go around.”

Patrick sighs. 

“You are an idiot,” he tells Brendon softly. “Really and truly. Don’t be a martyr, Brendon. We planned for you, you know. We have a limited blood supply, true. We also have Joe, Andy, Zack, and myself who are perfectly ready and willing to let you-”

“ _No_ ,” Brendon says emphatically. “I can’t do that, Patrick, I barely deserve to be here!”

Patrick glares at him.

“Brendon Boyd Urie,” he snaps, fed up. “If you don’t eat when you need to eat, you’re going to die. For real, this time. Like, unable to be saved. You deserve to be here because Pete chose you, Brendon. Pete wants you here. He wants to train you and he wants you here. He cares about you. He doesn’t want you slaughtered by the Sangsue. They can tell you’re turned, Brendon, and they will kill you for it.”

Brendon knows what the Sangsue want. He knows they want to eliminate the turned. 

“Why does Pete want me here when I still can’t fully grasp everything about being a fucking vampire, Patrick?” Brendon demands. He’s a little strung out, now, but he- he wants Patrick to answer him, he needs Patrick to calm him down. 

Patrick does just that, laying a hand on Brendon’s arm. Brendon exhales air he doesn’t really need and feels his muscles relax as Patrick’s command. 

“That’s it, Brendon,” Patrick whispers. “Relax.” 

The magic that seems to live on Patrick’s skin forces him to obey. Brendon sits, trembling against the force of it, until he’s finally able to speak again. 

“Patrick,” Brendon whispers. “I can’t help the resistance, I just slow them down. Everyone here thinks so.”

“That is so untrue I don’t even know where to begin,” Patrick says simply. “You just need to adjust. Being human most of your life means you still have human emotions. Not one vampire here does. Not one vampire here computes that you might feel unwelcome because they just don’t understand. You are welcome here. Everyone values you.”

“I’m not an idiot, Patrick,” Brendon says, because he’s not. He’s naive, still part human inside, but he isn’t stupid. “I’m the only one here not born. Pete may care about me but I know the rest of them, they just - they tolerate me because Pete tells them to. I know, Patrick. I know that you and Andy fight with them constantly to defend using your magic on me. I know Joe and Zack aren’t at the bottom of the hierarchy now that I’m here.”

“Brendon, they -”

“I _know_ you guys care about me, Patrick,” Brendon interrupts. “But they don’t. I’m below human to born vampires, I know where I am.”

“You’re worth more than that,” Patrick objects. “What does it matter what they think, if you know that Pete and us care about you? What does it matter that a bunch of emotionless vampires think they’re better than you just because they didn’t get bitten? In my opinion, you make a better vampire than them because you have to go through so much.”

Brendon looks down at the dirt again.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and Patrick snorts. 

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Patrick replies. “You always get like this when you’re hungry. Always. Even Ryan picks up on it.”

Brendon sighs.

“So,” Patrick continues. “Pick your poison. Joe, Zack, Andy, or me?”

Brendon buries his face in his hands. Patrick waits, patient, like Patrick always is. Brendon clenches his hands into fists - he knows Patrick isn’t going to drop this. 

“Can you -” he starts, then falters. Patrick smiles gently.

“Yes, Brendon,” he agrees softly. “Come on.”

\--

Brendon sleeps better than he ever has, through that night and then the next day, like he’s supposed to.

\--

When he emerges the next evening, Pete meets him outside his room. He surveys him for a moment before nodding.

“You’re coming with me today,” Pete informs him. “We’re heading to Georgetown. It got raided last night by the Sangsue. They’ve moved on, but there might be survivors.”

Brendon gapes for a moment before shaking himself.

“Y-yeah, ok,” he agrees, and Pete smiles at him. It’s a vampire smile - it doesn’t meet his eyes - but Brendon appreciates the effort. He misses normal human interactions and Pete obviously listens to Patrick’s advice. 

“You look better,” Pete says, a note of finality in his voice. “Healthier. Don’t refuse to eat again.”

It doesn’t sound like a request. Brendon nods.

“Sorry,” he says, but Pete’s face doesn’t change. As usual.

“Come on,” Pete says instead. “Patrick wants to bless you.” He turns, obviously expecting Brendon to follow immediately. 

Brendon falls into step slightly behind Pete. He doesn’t want a repeat of the time that one of Pete’s gang (Brendon thinks his name is Brent) saw him walking beside Pete and chewed him out regardless of Pete’s attempts to defuse the situation.

He knows, now. He’s not supposed to walk alongside born vampires. 

They enter the lobby of their building (Brendon’s almost positive it was a hotel at one point, before the Sangsue took over and everyone fled). He’s not even a little surprised that no one but Patrick acknowledges his presence, their eyes sliding right over him to greet Pete. 

Brendon tries to tell himself he’s used to it. It’s about as successful as it ever has been, which is to say it’s not.

He looks over at Patrick, whose eyes are broadcasting _ignore them_. He gives him a shaky smile and takes the hand Patrick extends. Someone makes a displeased noise from behind them and Patrick raises his stare over Brendon’s shoulder, gaze going ice cold. 

“I bless everyone on their first trip out,” his tone is friendly, a total contrast to his expression, which could probably kill a human. Brendon’s not sure the effect it has on vampires, but he’s not eager to turn and check. “Every single one of you.”

No one seems to want to speak up against Brendon, not with Pete and Patrick in charge, and Brendon fights the awful feeling rising in his chest. He hopes he sticks with Pete. He doesn’t trust anyone else to help him.

His hand tingles with the blessing Patrick gives him. It’s an odd sensation- Brendon doesn’t have nerves in his skin, not like humans do, but he still has nerves deep under and the combination of numb skin and activated nerves feels like a mild electric shock.

“There,” Patrick whispers, catching Brendon’s eye and flashing a small, private smile. “Everything will be fine.”

Brendon wants desperately to believe it. 

\--

Georgetown is a wasteland. Brendon’s positive that even a human could see the wreckage in the darkness, even if the countless fires weren’t burning. He’s not so confident there will be any survivors or even any supplies left they can take back.

If this trip is a waste, Brendon is positive he’ll somehow be at fault.

The group carefully picks over the debris covering everything. Brendon’s paired with Zack, something he’s desperately, amazingly grateful for. Zack, he can communicate with; Zack understands. 

Zack doesn’t treat him like shit. 

“What constitutes a survivor?” Brendon asks, voice hushed. “I assume Pete’s not interested in turning anyone.”

“You’re right,” Zack replies. “I’m not entirely sure. Someone that looks able to pull through. We can’t waste time with people we know will die.”

He gives Brendon a sidelong glance and Brendon swallows.

“I know,” he says, though it sounds far too cruel to believe. 

They fall into silence, both keeping a sharp eye on the rubble around them. Brendon keeps an unconscious count in his head, counting the victims he sees. Including those that had been turned, not born, a figure he’s certain no one but Zack, Pete, and himself care to keep track of. 

The number is approaching triple digits when Brendon spots movement. He grabs Zack’s sleeve, barely refraining from shouting like a moron, and together they stumble towards the bloody figure.

The injured man groans and Brendon looks him over worriedly. He can’t even begin to tell what the man is, or his status, or even his age - the dust and dirt from the destroyed buildings combined with the blood obscure most of his features.

“Hey,” Brendon whispers. “Hey, can you hear me?”

“What is _happening_ ,” is the response he gets, along with a harsh shove at Brendon’s shoulder. “Don’t - don’t touch me, please, it -”

“Where are you injured?” Zack interrupts, kneeling beside Brendon. “How badly? Give me a straight answer.”

The man winces and coughs.

“Think I just hit my head,” he finally replies. “Probably bruised up from the explosion. I can move.”

“The blood?” Zack questions, and Brendon has to agree. It’s a lot of blood. 

“Not all mine,” the man coughs again. “Not even mostly mine.”

“Can you stand?” Brendon asks. The man rolls his shoulders before nodding, and Brendon steps back to give him room. He hoists himself up on slightly unsteady legs, but still stands on his own nonetheless. Brendon’s relieved.

“Identify yourself, please,” Zack requests. Out of the corner of his eye, Brendon sees Pete glance toward them and cock his head, apparently considering approaching. 

“Werewolf,” the man says. “Born. That’s what you want to know, right?”

“Where’s your pack?” Zack asks before Brendon can say anything. He shoots Brendon a warning look and Brendon heeds it, shrinking back a little in hopes the man won’t look to him.

“Killed,” the man says, appearing matter of fact. “A few months ago.”

Brendon can see past the nonchalance, though, and his heart aches for the wolf’s loss.

“I’m Zack,” Zack says. “I don’t run the group. But I know one of our members is desperate to talk to any wolf possible. He’s looking for someone. I’m sure no one will mind you joining us to recover a bit if you’ll help in any way possible.”

The wolf seems to consider before sighing shakily. 

“I assume I’d be the only wolf?” he laughs bitterly. “Bottom of the food chain?”

“You wouldn’t be food,” Zack says with a hint of a bitter smile. “And I’m human, as I’m sure you can tell.”

The wolf sighs again.

“Not like I have much of another option, not without a pack,” he says, shrugging. “I did ok for a little while, but I don’t have a chance alone.”

“Talk to Patrick and you can temporarily stay,” Pete’s voice makes Brendon jump, and he heeds a vicelike grip on his arm, following Ryan’s cold gaze until he’s out of sight, behind Pete.

“Did you say anything?” Ryan hisses, teeth glinting in the firelight. “Anything at all, after he came back to himself?”

“No,” Brendon replies quietly. “I only spoke to him when he was waking.”

Ryan nods, satisfied, and releases Brendon’s arm roughly. 

“I don’t want the wolf to stay with us,” it’s Brent, and Pete’s expression slips dangerously close to icy fury. Brendon flinches back again, fear rising up at that expression. It’s never been directed at Brendon, and Brendon doesn’t even want to imagine what it would feel like if it was.

“Patrick needs to talk to wolves, Brent,” Pete replies cooly. “Patrick, as you recall, has healed you multiple times from your own moronic tendencies.”

“Patrick should go find wolves himself, not bring them to us and endanger us all,” Brent spits. “I’ve sat by too many times where you’ve allowed dangerous and disgusting creatures into our lives, Pete.”

The wolf is dangerous. Brendon is disgusting.

The words barely even hurt anymore.

(At least, that’s what Brendon tells himself.)

“Dangerous creatures?” Ryan sounds like he’d be laughing, if he knew how. “What dangerous creatures? We have us and humans and magics and that is it. There are far more of us than the wolf and Patrick has done more than he ever owed us, anyway.”

“Are we just going to ignore the fact that Pete allows a borderline _feral_ vampire among us?” Brent spits. Brendon has a split second for the panic to rise before Brent charges on. “Or, should I say, a borderline feral _turned_ among us?”

And it’s out. Pete’s expression hasn’t changed, but his posture has, and he glances over at Zack, wordless in his command.

Zack understands and steps away from the wolf, pushing between the wall Ryan and Pete make in front of Brendon and grabbing his wrist.

“To the car as fast as possible,” he mutters in an undertone. Brent’s furious voice rises up again and Brendon looks up at Zack desperately. 

“I won’t let him touch you,” Zack promises. “Pete won’t let anyone touch you. Come on, lets go.”

\--

Brendon’s not sure how long he and Zack stay in the car. Zack doesn’t let go of Brendon’s hand, and Brendon is stupidly grateful for that, wholeheartedly. 

He’s never been more scared in his entire existence as a vampire. He doesn’t know what will happen - will Brent get to him? Will the wolf? Will Pete throw him out, to the Sangsue?

“You’re ok,” Zack says softly. “You’re fine, little dude. You’ll stay with Patrick and Andy tonight while we settle everything and nothing will happen.”

“But Brent -”

“Pete’s been looking for an excuse to kick Brent to the curb for longer than you’ve been around,” Zack says firmly. “You just gave him one. Everything is alright.”

“All of them but Pete think the same,” Brendon says quietly. “I know they do. I’m not actually feral. I can sense it.”

After a pause, Zack sighs.

“I know,” he whispers. “But the rest of them, as opposed to Brent, have deference and respect for Pete, as their leader. They won’t go against him, no matter what they feel about you. Ryan pulled you away from the wolf before he got a whiff of you regardless of how he feels. They know Pete wants you safe, so you’re safe, hatred be damned.”

Brendon leans close.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, and Zack squeezes him a little.

“It’s just the truth,” he says softly. “I know this is miserable for you.”

The car door opens and both of them jump, Brendon with a slight whimper he isn’t proud of. 

Pete sweeps his gaze over Brendon again and nods.

“You’re in one piece, good,” he says, and Brendon has learned to read affection into Pete’s monotone by now. He relaxes marginally. Pete looks to Zack.

“The wolf has to ride with me,” he says calmly. “I don’t want to have anything occur now, where there’s not a way to get control of the situation.”

Zack nods.

“The problem is,” Pete continues. “Brendon _also_ needs to stay with me. Much as I trust that everyone will obey me, now isn’t a good time to test their loyalty. And I don’t want to put you in a position where you might have to fight off several angry vampires. You’re strong for a human, but you know that does no good.”

“The wolf is a born wolf, Pete,” Zack says quietly. Pete nods sharply. 

“The wolf is a born wolf who will put up with whatever I make him put up with because now he’s indebted to me,” he replies simply. “And if you will feel better, you can ride with us, too.”

Zack nods.

“I think I will,” he says, a note of finality in his voice. The arm still around Brendon squeezes gently. 

“Alright,” Pete agrees, turning to beckon behind him before sliding in the seat next to Brendon. A split second later, Ryan climbs behind the wheel and the wolf quietly settles into the passenger seat.

Brendon shrinks back a little, bumping into Pete, who huffs but doesn’t push him away. Brendon can’t take his eyes off the back of the wolf’s head, though the wolf seems content with staring solely out the window.

They’re about five miles away from the forest’s edge, where they’ll leave the cars, when the wolf speaks.

“I’ve never met a turned before,” he says conversationally, but Brendon can read the sarcasm loud and clear and he squeezes his eyes shut. Like that’ll convince anyone he’s sleeping. “What is it here for? Is it your pet?”

Brendon bites his lip and Zack finds his hand again.

“I don’t think that’s really your concern,” Pete replies simply. “You’re here on our good grace. I wouldn’t try and ruin that.”

The wolf falls silent again, and Brendon doesn’t reopen his eyes. His bones are beginning to ache and the bite mark he always struggles to uselessly hide is burning as dawn begins to break over the horizon. 

\--

Brendon can’t sleep.

He’s _exhausted_ , but every time he shuts his eyes he just sees the wolf, just pictures his throat being ripped out or the claws tearing apart his skin, or the countless other horror stories about werewolves Ryan liked to conjure up.

He never, ever believed them - after so long being the butt of hatred and assumptions, he always makes a point to never accept anyone’s declarations of what any race is.

He never believed werewolves were all savages, all dangerous, all heartless.

He never believed magics were self-centered and manipulative - certainly not after Patrick. 

He always made himself remember how it felt when others found out he was turned and tried tenfold to have an open heart and mind about everyone.

The wolf’s biting words are taunting that decision with every repeat of the sneering remark.

_Is it your pet?_

“Bren,” Patrick’s voice is soft. Brendon glances up hesitantly and Patrick smiles gently, pushing Brendon’s hair out of his face. Brendon swallows and sighs against the arm Patrick presses against his mouth.

“You’ve had a rough night, you refused to eat before you left, and you won’t be able to sleep without it,” Patrick tells him. “Eat. Please. You need to be able to sleep because lord knows what’s around the corner.”

“No one is here to stop me,” Brendon protests. Patrick rolls his eyes. 

“You know perfectly well that that is only a valid concern when it’s Joe or Zack,” he says. “I happen to have magic that can push even the hungriest vampire away so just fucking eat, ok?”

Brendon closes his eyes for a moment, steadying himself, when several drops of blood hit his lips and his eyes fly back open. He’s licking them up before he can stop himself, his body deciding for him, and he kind of wants the ground to swallow him whole. 

He’s humiliated.

“You don’t even have to bite,” Patrick says softly. “Just eat. Please.”

Brendon no longer even has a say in it, because the blood it forcing his feelings aside, drawing out the part of him he can’t control like the others can. The part that takes over when there’s blood to be had. 

He’s checked out, almost completely gone when Patrick gently forces him back, the magic freezing him until Patrick can pull the blood away.

Brendon feels his eyes closing, feels his body relaxing as it absorbs the blood, and he wants to give in, to sleep, but he struggles to look up at Patrick even as his energy drops. 

“I’m sorry, I’m -” he mumbles, eyes closing as Patrick brushes his hair back. “They’re right. They’re right about me.”

He slumps back, too tired to fight his body, and Patrick sighs.

“They’re not,” Patrick whispers as Brendon begins to slip into sleep. “They’re not right. You’re not a pet. You’re Brendon, you’re my Brendon, and you are amazing.”

Brendon wants to believe him.

\--

Patrick has approximately one hundred things for Brendon to do when he wakes back up, and all of them involve sticking close to Patrick and Andy, helping them with stupid things that could easily be done with magic.

Brendon doesn’t mind. Keeping Brendon occupied in Patrick’s room means Brendon won’t have to interact with anyone, up to and including their new resident werewolf.

 _“Spencer,”_ and Patrick says the name with such malice it almost cheers Brendon up. “Is an absolute menace.”

“Have you talked to him?” Andy asks -pretty reasonably, but Patrick won’t be reasoned with when Brendon is concerned. 

“I don’t need to _talk to him,_ ” Patrick spits. “His personality has already been made crystal clear, thanks.”

“He was hurt,” Brendon volunteers quietly. “He was afraid. He might not have meant it.”

Patrick fixes Brendon with a look.

“Believe what you want to,” he says firmly. “But you’re not going to go find out.”

Brendon knows a lost cause when he sees one, so he just nods and returns to the book Patrick had found for him. He hopes this will all die down soon. 

\--

Brendon can’t sleep again. He tries, he really does, he attempts to lie still and quiet but he can’t close his eyes, he can’t rest.

He’s lucky he’s still sharing Patrick’s room - Patrick sleeps at night, so it works out. But Brendon’s been lying here for ages, blackout shades drawn tight, the room cool and dark, but something prevents him from resting.

It’s a tight ball in the pit of his stomach, and he knows it’s anxiety and worry, but he cannot figure out what’s causing it. He knows he’s safe - even if Patrick wasn’t right next door, in Pete’s room, the door is charmed to open only for a few people, no matter how hard others try.

It doesn’t reassure him. Something is eating at him, yelling at him to _“wake up”_ every time he tries to relax. It’s getting really fucking annoying and he growls a little in irritation. 

“Can’t sleep, either?” Brendon jumps and snaps his gaze to the door, where Patrick stands, Pete behind him. 

_Pete?_

“No,” Brendon says belatedly. “I can’t.”

Pete cocks his head, considering, before brushing past Patrick to sit beside Brendon.

“Born vampires,” he begins, and Brendon’s attention is immediately on him. Explanations of the differences between him and the born are rare from Pete, and every time Pete gives one, Brendon hangs on every word. “They have a certain sense - I don’t know how else to describe it, really, although sense maybe isn’t quite right. They’re born with this … ability to be able to detect danger. It’s not something they learn to control - it happens naturally.”

Brendon stays silent, because that’s what Pete expects. He has a billion burning questions, but he knows better than to interrupt. 

“This sense, or ability, will not allow them to sleep if danger is present. It suppresses hunger, so that they won’t eat and have to rest if they’re not safe. Most importantly, it sharpens vision and hearing in order to be able to find the danger,” Pete looks over Brendon again, and Brendon’s not sure he understands the look in his eyes. “As you’ve probably already gathered, turned vampires don’t have it. However, some develop it, especially if most of their time is spent around born vampires or in a lot of danger - both criteria you meet.”

“Is that why I can’t sleep?” Brendon asks before he can help himself. Thankfully, Pete doesn’t seem to mind.

“That’s why you can’t sleep,” Pete confirms. “It’s also why I can’t sleep. You’ve been in slight danger all your life, but better protected with us. This is the first time there’s a very real threat and it’s inside our walls. You don’t know what to do about that. So, you can’t sleep because you’re on high alert.”

“The wolf?” Brendon asks, although he’s pretty sure he knows. 

“The wolf,” Patrick confirms, dragging Brendon’s attention to him. Patrick gives him a small, warm smile, and Brendon relaxes minutely. 

“There’s no point in lying here when you’re not going to be able to sleep,” Pete says. “You can get up and go with Patrick.”

Brendon smiles and nods, and Pete squeezes Brendon’s wrists before standing and leaving, pausing first to touch Patrick’s cheek briefly.

Brendon pushes himself up once Pete is gone, and Patrick looks fond. Brendon’s pretty sure it’s not just for him and he grins.

“Come on,” Patrick says. “Come to the herb garden and don’t complain.”

Brendon rolls his eyes and reaches down to pull on his shoes quickly.

“I’m going to complain in my head,” he teases and Patrick snorts and flicks his head.

“Go for it,” he says, and then softens a little. “Pete can’t sleep, either.”

Brendon glances up hesitantly. Patrick looks contemplative, and Brendon bites his lips carefully.

“Why?” he asks, voice quiet. Patrick ruffles his hair.

“The wolf,” he explains simply. “The wolf is a threat to _you.”_

Brendon doesn’t know what to say. He cuts his gaze away from Patrick, but the hum of Patrick’s magic surrounds his head and he’s forced to look back up again. 

“Born vampires aren’t _incapable_ of human emotions, Brendon,” Patrick says with a small smile. “It just takes them longer to experience them - and it takes a strong bond.”

“Like you and Pete?” Brendon asks without thinking. Patrick laughs indulgently. 

“Sure,” he agrees with a smirk. “Though that was mostly me not taking no for an answer.”

Brendon laughs at the mental image of Pete, worn down and dogged into holding Patrick’s hand. Patrick flicks Brendon’s ear but Brendon just snorts and starts pulling on his sweatshirt. 

“Like Pete and you, too,” Patrick’s voice quickly drags Brendon’s focus back up, sweatshirt only halfway on. Patrick smiles, a hint of sadness playing across his face. “That wasn’t something I expected to happen.”

“Why not?” Brendon whispers and Patrick takes his hand. 

“I was there the night you were turned,” Patrick begins softly. “I saw the three vampires attack you, intending to drain you. I - I don’t know what came over me, because I’ve been around, you know. I’m tougher than I used to be. But I couldn’t leave you there to bleed out, alone. Something - something in me, in my magic, tied you to me. So Pete was probably ready to _murder_ me, but I faked being in trouble. I screamed for him because I knew that me being in danger would make him come immediately and you didn’t have enough time.”

“You -” Brendon is _shocked_ , and Patrick holds up a hand, stalling his outburst.

“Yes,” Patrick says after a moment. “Me. When Pete got there and saw why I’d called, I thought he’d be furious, I thought he’d just drag me away and then lecture me again about saving people. But I begged, and _begged_ , and then he threw himself into trying to save you and when it worked the only thing I expected was for him to either leave you there to recover or, at best, let you come with us just until you recovered. I didn’t even consider the possibility of him insisting you’d stay. I thought he’d leave you to me and not involve himself, because it took ages for Pete to love me.”

“Pete’s always - he’s -” Brendon stutters, eyes wide, and Patrick smiles shakily.

“I know,” Patrick replies. “I was - I was so surprised when he kept checking in on you, when he kept bringing you blood, when he put himself and his leadership on the line in front of the whole group by issuing a blanket protection over you. I didn’t expect it.”

“Why?” Brendon whispers. “Why - I’m not - I should be _nothing_.”

“Because I love you,” Patrick says firmly. “I love you and Pete has defied all expectations by being so _devoted_ to me that he loves you too, Brendon. We _love_ you and that’s why Pete’s so concerned for you about this fucking _wolf_.”

“You charmed the door shut,” Brendon reminds Patrick, who lets out a short laugh. 

“That’s what I told Pete,” he grins. “Pete still sent me about fifteen times an hour to go check on you.”

Brendon snorts and Patrick tugs the sweatshirt all the way on. 

“So next time you decide you’re some sort of drag on Pete,” Patrick scolds halfheartedly. “Please remember that you’re wrong and nothing you could ever do would make Pete think that was true.”

Brendon smiles and Patrick’s magic buzzes gently over him, warm and comfortable.

\--

Pete takes Ryan, Dirty, Zack, Andy, and Patrick out hunting the next night. It’s a weekly occurrence: their blood supply remains plentiful as long as there are animals they can take from. Since they’d moved here, they’d never had trouble, but there were times when Brendon was still in the midst of turning that they’d had to abandon and move for lack of resources.

It’s unbearably humid. The territory is eerily still, those that stayed behind moving as little as possible. 

Brendon’s lying on the stone floor of Joe’s room, seeking any coolness he can get from the ground. Joe left him there to go fill the water bucket, and Brendon hasn’t heard from anyone else all night. He supposes Shane and Ian are somewhere about - Shane is peeved about not getting to go and Ian is still too young, so they’re probably sulking.

Brendon privately thinks it’s for the best Shane wasn’t allowed to go. Brendon’s only experience with blood sickness was when he was first turned and his body hadn’t adjusted to consuming blood. He’d never seen it in a born vampire, but seeing Shane walk the halls with a dead look in his eyes and paler skin than Brendon had ever seen was unnerving.

Shane has barely recovered from it and Patrick has barely recovered from the energy he spent helping Shane heal. But Patrick and Andy were both needed so Patrick had no choice. 

Brendon just hopes everything is alright out there.

He sighs and rolls to his stomach. The floor isn’t getting any cooler and is more uncomfortable by the minute but Brendon can’t think of anywhere else he wants to be at the moment. Leaving the room means chancing a run in with Spencer, and though the wolf hasn’t spoke a word to him in the days he’s been here, Brendon still hears him in his head and recoils. 

“You haven’t moved an inch,” Joe says, walking past Brendon to sit on his bed. He’s sweaty, and strips off his t-shirt with a grimace. “Can’t say I blame you. It’s better in here than out there.”

Brendon makes a noncommittal noise and Joe laughs.

“I bet,” he says. “They’ll be back soon. You can eat then.”

“Not hungry,” Brendon lies. He’s starving.

“Sure,” Joe says lightly. “Whatever you say. You know, I can’t forget for a moment you’re only two.” 

“I’m twenty,” Brendon says sullenly. He doesn’t look up, but he’s about 99% sure Joe is rolling his eyes.

“You _were_ twenty,” he reminds Brendon. “You’re still twenty mentally. It’s fine. But you’re two physically and you need to listen to Pete or you won’t mature at all.”

Brendon doesn’t reply but he knows defeat when he hears it. He sighs.

“Do you ever wonder how you somehow became part of a clan when you’re human?” Brendon asks. “Do you ever think of other ways things might have gone?”

“You mean do I wish the Sangsue hadn’t destroyed Wilmette?” Joe replies wryly. “Of course I do.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Brendon sighs. Joe snorts.

“I know,” he says softly. “No. I don’t wish I had been killed.”

“Everyone is gone now, though,” Brendon points out, eyes stinging with tears before he furiously blinks them away. “It’s just you.”

“Not really,” Joe disagrees. “I still have Patrick. And Andy.”

“They’re not -”

“They’re family to me,” Joe says firmly. “And Patrick was already with Pete, he didn’t have to take me along, but he did. So, no, I’m not upset I became one of two humans in a clan. There are worse things.”

“Like what?” Brendon asks. “How can you be content with being the bottom of the hierarchy?”

“Because I’m not,” Joe says. “I’m human. I’m not really ranked on the vampire social scale.”

Brendon lifts his head and shoots Joe a look. He ignores it.

“It could be worse,” Joe repeats. 

_You could be turned_ , Brendon fills in for him in his head. He rolls over again, back onto his back, and looks up at Joe pensively. Joe grins.

“Stop being philosophical,” he teases. “You’re only two.” 

“I am _twenty_ -” Brendon begins indignantly, but is cut off abruptly by a huge crash from outside. Brendon jerks in surprise before scrambling to his feet and staring guardedly at the door. He glances over at Joe, who’s wearing the same expression, before a shout drifts up from the lobby.

“Everyone scatter!” It’s Zack and if Brendon’s heart stops at those words. Scatter meant something was so wrong even Zack couldn’t handle it and all Brendon can think is _Sangsue!_

“Joe! Come on!” Zack shouts again and Joe grabs Brendon’s arm roughly. 

“Service entrance. Run, and don’t you dare stop running for anything,” he orders. “Pull a fire alarm on your way out. The others will hear it and come back. Understand?”

Brendon nods frantically and Joe lets him go with a shove towards the door.

“As fast as possible,” he snaps. “Go!”

Brendon doesn’t need to be told twice. He uses the momentum from Joe’s shove to bolt out the door and down the hall, slamming open the door for the stairs and taking them two at a time down towards the kitchen.

He just passes the lobby and is rounding the corner to the last flight of stairs when the entrance to the lobby is smashed open. Brendon stumbles, looking up quickly and freezing in terror.

It’s a wolf. A wolf in it’s human form, carrying a shotgun and a cloth bag, and trailed by a tall, sleek, angry-looking vampire. 

Frankly, they look as shocked to see him as he is to see them, but Brendon doesn’t rely on that. He darts to the wall and pulls the fire alarm hard before whirling around and heading to the stairs again.

He forgets that most others are far faster than him.

“You!” the wolf snarls. “Stop!”

Brendon ignores him but the vampire catches him by the hair and yanks hard. Brendon struggles and lashes out desperately but his fists catch nothing but air and pain explodes behind his eyes as the vampire easily lifts him off the ground, still gripping Brendon’s hair.

Brendon opens his eyes and he can’t help the desperation that he’s sure is written all over his face - and, to his surprise, the vampire’s expression softens and she sets Brendon back down, even though she doesn’t release him.

“He’s a child,” the vampire says in response to the wolf’s incredulous look. “He couldn’t fight us if he tried. How old are you, boy?”

“Two,” Brendon whispers hoarsely. “Please let me go.”

“How is it two?” the wolf demands. “It looks full grown!”

“Vampires age quickly physically, a fact that we have discussed,” the vampire snaps. It’s a bold faced lie, and Brendon knows it - born vampires grow up quickly, but not that quickly. A two year old born vampire is still only the size of a preteen human.

The vampire has to know, then. She has to realize Brendon is turned.

Brendon tenses as the wolf takes a step forward and the vampire throws him a nasty look.

“Enough,” she spits. “Don’t try and make him believe we’re going to hurt him.”

“You are a _bleeding heart_ , Sarah,” the wolf growls. “It’s your own fault if this fails.”

“Thank you for your input,” the vampire - Sarah - says dryly before turning to Brendon. “Big place for so few of you.”

Brendon stays quiet, unsure of what she wants. She smiles - the dead, vampire smile that Brendon is used to, but a smile nonetheless - and loosens her grip a little. Brendon doesn’t dare try and escape.

“We don’t want to hurt anyone, especially not children,” she continues. “It’s just that my clan and his pack are hungry. We figured this place would have enough blood for us and some food for them, but I see you’re all vampires and humans, so perhaps not.”

Brendon swallows and Sarah cocks her head.

“What’s your name?” she asks, fully releasing Brendon’s hair and smoothing it back into place. “Where is your Sire?”

Brendon looks uncertainly at the wolf before swallowing hard again.

“Brendon,” he replies softly. “My name’s Brendon.”

“And your Sire?” she prompts when Brendon doesn’t continue. 

Brendon honestly doesn’t know what to do. If he says Pete is gone, she could have many others waiting to invade completely. If he says Pete is here and she just wants to speak with him, he’d get punished for lying. 

He’s still frantically thinking when a voice he hasn’t heard in days interrupts him.

“The Sire is out and I’m in charge,” the wolf - their wolf, _Spencer_ \- is standing in the doorway to the lobby, trailed by Zack and Joe, who look uneasy but have no choice. Spencer is obviously lying - Joe is in charge but Joe doesn’t stand a physical chance against the supernatural. At least hearing it from a wolf might encourage them to leave.

“Is that so?” the other wolf growls lowly, and Spencer narrows his eyes. 

“Yes,” he replies shortly. “It is. And before you make assumptions, my pack was murdered by the Sangsue and the Sire took me into his clan. The same Sire whose child you’ve been threatening.”

The wolf _balks_ and even Sarah looks slightly uneasy. Brendon feels relief course through him. Being identified as a Sire’s child saves him, but it’s not something anyone would believe if _Brendon_ said it.

It hits Brendon.

The wolf just interfered and saved Brendon’s life when he could have easily not. Easily.

“We meant no disrespect,” Sarah recovers first. “I didn’t realize he was a child at first. We didn’t mean to cause any harm. We’re lost and hungry and this was obviously a poor decision.”

“ _Joe?”_ it’s Patrick, his voice echoing across the lobby. “Jesus Christ, Pete, there was a break in!”

Pete swears, sharp and unfamiliar against his usually calm demeanor. There’s a flurry of voices rising in volume as the rest of the group arrives and takes in the damage to the lobby that Brendon can barely see beyond Spencer’s shoulder. 

“It’s another Sire,” Andy says suddenly. “And another werewolf.”

 _“Brendon!”_ Pete’s voice has deepened, into the dark, rolling tone he uses to control situations, and Brendon barely bites back the whine he wants to make at it. Joe and Spencer both step aside and Brendon seizes his chance, slipping out of Sarah’s lax grasp and past them to meet Pete halfway.

“What happened?” Ryan snarls from behind Pete, but Brendon doesn’t answer, looking up into Pete’s eyes and hoping his _total and complete terror_ isn’t showing. 

Pete rakes his gaze up and down Brendon, some tension slipping away when he realizes Brendon’s not hurt. He exhales hard through his nose and briefly touches his forehead to Brendon’s before gently pushing him towards Patrick and stalking towards the stairs Brendon had just left.

“I’m ok,” he whispers as Patrick bites his lip worriedly and gives the same once-over Pete had. Patrick brushes his hair back and sighs a little.

“Come on,” he says, taking Brendon’s hand gently. “Just humor me, please.”

If Brendon had any energy at all left over after the adrenaline rush, he would have called Patrick out and protested vehemently against being treated like an _actual child_ , but he doesn’t. Also, he’s kind of relieved to be being led away from everything, if he’s being honest. It would have been only a matter of time before the rest of the group had somehow managed to make this _his_ fault.

He could do without the vicious glares right now. 

He leans his head on Patrick’s shoulder and goes with it. 

\--

Brendon’s not sure what wakes him up, but the ache in his bones and the clock on the table both suggest that it’s still mid afternoon. He’s still exhausted from last night, mentally and physically (his scalp still feels tender from Sarah’s grasp) but he can’t seem to slip into sleep for more than an hour. 

He groans in frustration and pushes himself off the bed. He yanks a sweater on - he thinks it’s actually Patrick’s, but whatever - and slides his feet into the first shoes he finds before pushing the bedroom door open and walking out.

The hallway is dark and cool, the air conditioner humming smoothly since they’d found some gas to run it. Brendon sighs and heads down the hall towards the stairs, no destination in mind except for the battered, out of tune piano in the basement.

It’s where he always goes, and he figures if Patrick finds his bed empty, he’ll search there first. 

He reaches for the handle of the door to the stairwell, and just as his fingers curve over the smooth metal, a hand wraps around his face, sealing off his mouth and nose before he has any chance to scream. 

“Fucking feral piece of shit,” a low, male voice growls right by Brendon’s ear and the slur barely registers with him, to be honest - his attention is focused on the brute strength the attacker seems to have, how easily he’s moving Brendon down the hall, out of possible sight.

 _Leave me alone!_ Brendon wants to scream, wants to swear at the top of his lungs because he’s _tired_ of this, he’s _tired_ of not being able to fight back. He struggles uselessly, and the attacker laughs and wrenches his arm hard. Brendon’s eyes water in pain and he can’t help the muffled noise he makes in response. 

“Goddamn _leech_ ,” the man grunts out as he shoves Brendon around the corner. “Soulless, stupid feeder. You don’t deserve to be _living_ and _breathing._ ”

_Leech._

Brendon sucks in a deep breath and bares his teeth under the suffocating hand. For the first time ever, he’s grateful he doesn’t have to take the time to extend his teeth like the born do-he just opens his mouth and _bites,_ as hard as he physically can, locking his jaw as best he can and ignoring the blood filling his mouth and dripping down his front. 

He’s not feeding. He’s fighting. 

The attacker howls and rips his hand away from Brendon’s mouth, leaving a chunk of his own flesh behind. Brendon has a split second to admire his sudden burst of strength before pulling away from the man and trying to run.

“Fucking nightwalking halfblood!” the man screams, strangled. He seizes Brendon’s arm, nails digging into the skin, and yanks him off his feet. Brendon flails and struggles, managing to turn around to face the man-

It’s the wolf. It’s the wolf that came with Sarah - Jon, his name is, and Brendon goes cold. There’s fury, murder in the wolf’s eyes and Brendon is close to panic.

“Feral, like I said,” Jon snarls. “No fucking _place_ on Earth for you!”

Brendon spits in Jon’s face, the leftover blood and flesh and skin he’d taken out of Jon’s hand helping his fight, and the wolf snarls and lets go to swipe at his eyes. Brendon doesn’t hesitate, he runs, past Jon and back down the hall toward his room-and Pete’s. 

He’s too slow. He can’t run as fast as the born can, he’s always two steps behind, and Jon grabs him ten feet from safety. 

“Nice try,” Jon hisses, yanking at Brendon’s hair with one hand and squeezing his neck with the other. “But you forget you’re an antivenom. You’re useless. Give up.”

Brendon wants to cry, eyes locked on the thick wooden door, and he yelps as Jon yanks his hair hard enough to tilt his head back, exposing his throat. His bite mark. 

“And here’s the proof of what I knew about you after your Sire came home,” Jon laughs, voice dark. “You passed me and I could pick up your stench. The stench of the feral, of halfbloods like you - I knew.”

Brendon whimpers and tries to pull away again, barely managing to refrain from pleading. He knows that, most definitely, would do no good. 

“Shhhh,” Jon croons sarcastically. “Don’t cry, now. This will be better for everyone, surely you’re not too stupid to realize that.”

“Pete -”

“ _Pete_ will thank me,” Jon snaps, then smirks. He slides the hand that was around Brendon’s neck up, caressing the scar, sickeningly sweet. 

Brendon whimpers again, but Jon easily holds him still.

“I’ll rip your throat out here,” he says, so fucking conversational, smirking wider as Brendon whines. “It’ll be so beautiful, after all. So … touching.”

Brendon fights frantically, but Jon just barks out another dark laugh and pressing his teeth to the scar, biting lightly but enough to make Brendon freeze. 

Jon pats Brendon’s head in the most false display of affection Brendon has _ever_ received, and sighs.

“Hold still,” he instructs, breath puffing across Brendon’s throat. “Take a nice, deep breath. This will only hurt for a while. Then you’ll be dead.”

Brendon feels teeth against his skin again and he bites back a terrified scream. He’s shaking and trembling and the only thing running through his mind is _this isn’t happening this isn’t real this is a dream -_

“What are you doing?”

The teeth jerk away suddenly and Brendon almost collapses in relief, however short lived it may be. He’s pretty certain he recognizes that voice, and he’s equally certain the owner won’t really care what happens to him.

“Ridding the world of filth, one turned at a time,” Jon says grandly. “It’s how I reclaim my identity in a sea full of nightwalkers. Come on, I’m waiting for the only other wolf I know to join us and I don’t want to live in fear of ferals. You’ve been the only wolf here for however long, surely you understand. Join me.”

Spencer is silent and Brendon can’t move.

“Do you want to do the honors? It’d be appropriate.” Jon sounds far too thrilled, and Brendon knows this is _it._

“Yeah,” Spencer sounds noncommittal, bored, and Brendon sobs. “Why not.”

 _“Please,”_ Brendon appeals, desperately trying to catch Spencer’s gaze. “Please, please - not here, please don’t do it here -”

“Shut the _fuck_ up,” Jon hisses, and backhands Brendon hard enough to bruise. “You fucking feeder.”

Brendon chokes on another terrified cry, and Spencer grabs his arm, pulling him toward him. He takes ahold of his face, turning it side to side, and glances over at Jon. 

“He bite you?” he asks, amused, and Jon grunts. 

“Little bitch,” he mutters, ostensibly showing Spencer his hand. Spencer glances back down at Brendon, the ghost of a smirk slipping across his face before he gently squeezes Brendon’s chin.

“Brave,” he comments, and Brendon barely has time to be confused before Spencer _shoves_ him, hard, to the side and launches at Jon, snarling. 

Brendon’s never seen a werewolf fight before, let alone seen it less than five feet from him, but he’s not stupid. He ignores the pain erupting up and down his ribs and scrambles away, out of range of whatever is about to happen.

It’s almost too fast to follow - the element of surprise Spencer had gives him almost total control. He slams Jon hard into the wall, and sends a knee into his stomach. Jon lets out a sound that makes Brendon want to curl up and hide, loud and dangerous, but Spencer is unaffected, bares his teeth and wraps a hand around Jon’s neck. 

Pete’s door swings open at the same time as three others down the hall, and every one of them freezes as they take in the scene in front of them. Brendon knows Pete can’t see him, and he can’t make his voice work to call to him, though he can tell Pete is sorting though the smells in the air and recognizing Brendon’s.

“What the -” Sarah sounds incredulous, floored. This sentiment is echoed by Ryan and Shane, who both wince as the fight continues.

Jon swings at Spencer’s face and hits, hard, but it only serves to make Spencer more furious. He growls low in his throat and begins _laying_ into Jon, landing blow after blow to his stomach and ribs and seemingly ignoring the rare punch Jon manages to throw.

There’s a loud _crack_ and Jon yelps, injured, but Spencer doesn’t let up - though both Sarah and Pete take that as a declaration of victory and leap in immediately to drag them away from each other. 

That seems to be a good thing, because Brendon’s pretty sure if they’d been left to it, one would be dead. 

Sarah and Pete throw both wolves to the ground, away from each other, and bare their teeth. Neither is an alpha, so they thankfully listen, stilling and quieting, though throwing each other looks that could kill regardless.

“Explain yourself,” Sarah spits. “Explain what was so bad that you had to cause this scene now, in someone else’s territory where we are _guests_. Explain that to me, Jon.”

“He fucking started it!” Jon snarls over and Spencer bristles.

“Bull fucking shit!” he snaps back. “That was self defense!”

“It looked a little bit more like you ready to rip his head off,” Pete speaks up, calmly. “What were you defending yourself from?”

 _“Nothing_ , because I didn’t do _shit_ to him!” Jon interrupts, but quiets abruptly at Sarah’s glare. 

Spencer’s gaze doesn’t change. The blind, cold fury is all that shows, and it stays aimed at Jon until Pete clears his throat. Spencer looks up at Pete, chest heaving a little. 

“I was defending someone who couldn’t defend themselves,” he finally says. “They were in danger.”

“From Jon?” Sarah asks, and Jon growls.

Spencer nods. Brendon’s vision is swimming, the adrenaline and fear and anxiety slamming into him all at once, but he fights it, desperate to stay present, stay awake. In case Spencer needs him. 

He can’t cry out, he can’t speak, he can’t move, but he struggles against it, against the pain that’s all he can think about. 

“Who were you defending?” Pete asks, but the words are barely out of his mouth before Jon speaks up again, furious and on edge.

“He wasn’t defending _anyone,_ ” the words are sharp and biting. “He interrupted me doing a service to your clan and the world.”

“Jon, what are you _talking_ about?” Sarah demands, the lines of tension in her neck the only giveaway of her anger. “This isn’t your _place_ -”

“This is a clan that keeps ferals,” Jon hisses. “I was disposing of one.”

The effect is instantaneous. Sarah’s jaw drops and Pete bares his fangs, hissing lowly, eyes glinting. Jon snorts in defiance and Pete actually takes a step to advance on him before the loudest reaction of all stops him.

 _“What?”_ Patrick’s cry is loud and terrified. “Where is he, what did the wolf do to him?” 

He’s pushing past Pete, fighting Pete’s restraining grip, and it takes everything in Brendon to steel himself, push past his frozen muscles, and call out.

“Patrick!” it’s not very loud, not nearly as loud as he even speaks normally, but it’s all he can manage and it works. Spencer swings his head to look for him, going still when he takes in Brendon’s appearance. Pete and Patrick move almost simultaneously, both racing to Brendon’s side in an instant.

The relief that courses through Brendon as Patrick pulls him close hits him so hard he’s dizzy with it. He clutches reflexively at Patrick’s shirt, glancing from Patrick’s face to Pete’s, and tries his hardest to tell them how _sorry_ he is without speaking. 

Pete grabs his chin, reminiscent of what Spencer had done, and takes in the blood dried on his lips and cheeks. He clenches his jaw and looks sharply up at Jon. 

“You,” Pete spits. “Are gone. You are out of here, you are never to come back. You are no longer welcome. If you step foot here again, I will kill you myself. Understood?”

“I was just -”

Spencer growls, loud and angry, and Jon snaps his mouth shut and glares. 

“Sarah,” Pete continues, as though Jon hadn’t interrupted. “You and the others are still welcome to stay. Provided, of course, they don’t share any sympathies Jon does.”

“I can assure you that none of my clan do,” Sarah promises, throwing a disgusted look at Jon. “He is not one of us. He’s merely a stowaway we had sympathy for.”

“The rest of your group?” Pete asks curtly, and Sarah nods. 

“I have one magic and one other wolf coming to join us,” she says. “They are _not_ sympathizers.”

“The wolf?” Patrick demands unapologetically. 

“I swear on my _life,”_ Sarah says firmly. “She would never.”

Pete nods.

“You may stay, and I hold you to that word,” he tells her.

“I am sorry I ever brought danger here,” Sarah sounds more sincere than Brendon has ever heard a vampire sound before, and he swallows hard. “The last thing I want is to hurt anyone.”

“He is not your responsibility,” Pete says. “And now, he is not anyone’s problem. Spencer, if you would, please stay here with Patrick and Brendon. I will accompany our guest outside.”

Spencer nods. Brendon pushes closer to Patrick, who shushes him, brushing his hair away from his face.

“Spencer,” Patrick says, looking up at him. “Can you please stay with him for a few minutes? I’m going to get some things to treat him and you.”

Spencer opens his mouth like he wants to protest but thinks better of it, and just nods again, watching as Patrick drops a kiss to Brendon’s forehead and stands, heading off quickly.

There’s a long pause. Spencer is looking anywhere but at Brendon, avoiding his gaze determinedly. He’s tense, trembling with leftover adrenaline, and still bleeding sluggishly from his nose.

“Spencer,” Brendon tries, voice hoarse. It has all the effectiveness of talking to the floor and Brendon sighs. He shifts his weight and tries to stand, whining as the pain in his ribs flares up brutally. 

Spencer’s gaze snaps from the wall to Brendon almost unwillingly at the noise, and Brendon’s not sure what to make of that. But he has Spencer’s attention now, and no way is he letting that opportunity pass.

“Thank you,” he says firmly, eyes meeting Spencer’s almost defiantly. He reaches out slowly and steadies himself against the wall with a small groan. “Thank you for saving my life.”

Spencer’s lips curl into a sneer but Brendon can tell it doesn’t meet his eyes.

“If you think I did that for you,” he spits. “You are dead wrong. I owe your Sire a favor. That’s all.”

“I don’t believe you,” Brendon protests. “I don’t believe that you would have let me die if you hadn’t owed Pete anything.”

“You’re as stupid as I thought, then,” Spencer snaps. “You’re just a turned. I couldn’t care less.”

“You’re lying,” Brendon whispers, voice shaking. Spencer laughs.

“No,” he says. “I’m not. Nobody cares about ferals. You should get used to it.”

And that-that’s the last straw in Brendon’s self control. He can almost watch it collapse, watch it shatter on the floor, and the emotions he always fights to ignore hit him all at once. 

“You act like this is my fault!” he surprises himself at the fierceness in his own voice, but only for a minute before he charges on, words pouring out of him like a waterfall. “Like I chose this, like this is what I wanted for myself! I didn’t ask to be turned. I never even met Pete before that night. You think this is what I would have chosen in that moment? You think if I had the option of being turned and being tormented every day or just letting myself bleed out in a fucking alley I would have chosen _this?”_

“You -”

“No! Shut up! I’m not done!” Brendon’s hands are clenched into fists at his sides and he’s shaking with the effort of not hitting Spencer in the face. “I’m _sorry_ that my existence offends you. I’m _sorry_ you hate me for something I can’t help. I am so sorry that everyone who ever meets me immediately thinks I’m some wild animal with no self control who will kill them in a heartbeat. But most of all? I’m sorry I’m alive. I’m sorry I have to rely on Pete, to drag Pete’s life down, in order to be safe. I’m sorry that every second of every day I am terrified of things like what happened tonight happening. I’m sorry I have to take what everyone dishes out so I can stay safe.”

Spencer is silent, eyes on Brendon, gaping. Brendon swallows hard against the furious, hysterical tears that are just waiting to be shed and exhales.

“Thank you for repaying Pete,” he finishes. “You don’t have to fight for me anymore.”

“Brendon -”

“He said thank you,” Patrick’s voice is colder than Brendon’s ever heard it, and he fights the urge to run to him, to cry in the safety of his arms. 

He needs to grow up.

“Patrick,” Pete says quietly, from behind Spencer. “Take Brendon. I need to speak with Spencer.”

Patrick holds his hand out and Brendon takes it, letting Patrick pull him close and trembling with the effort of remaining poised. 

\--

“I don’t _care,_ Pete!” Patrick’s voice is harsh, and Brendon groggily blinks sleep from his eyes as he squints towards the door, behind which a huge argument seems to be happening. “I swear to _God_ I won’t see Brendon hurt again!”

“It’s complicated, Patrick!” Pete sounds tired. “Do you think I don’t want him safe? Do you think I don’t care about him?”

“No,” Patrick’s voice breaks. “Of course I don’t.”

“Spencer isn’t going to hurt Brendon, you have to believe that,” Pete says. “I know that’s hard when you heard what you did, but it’s difficult for him. He has no alpha to guide him on this, he’s going it alone and it’s hard.”

“You’re _sure?”_ Patrick asks desperately. “You’re positive you smelled it? The pack scent?”

“Yes,” Pete replies. “It was clear. He lashed out because he doesn’t know how to handle rebuilding a pack after losing his. He’s not an alpha. He’s confused. And he wants to apologize to Brendon.”

Patrick sighs, and Brendon feels it like a knife to the chest. How is it he always causes conflict, wherever he goes? He carefully tugs the blanket up, over his head, hoping it would make him disappear, biting his lip and barely refraining from screaming in frustration.

It’s not like he enjoys causing problems. It’s not a hobby for him.

And yet -

“Brendon?” Patrick’s voice is soft, gentle. Brendon lays still, closing his eyes and praying Patrick would leave him to mope in peace.

“I know you’re awake, Brendon, I can hear your heart rate,” Pete interjects and Brendon sighs, pulling the blanket off his head with a scowl. Neither Pete nor Patrick seem to care, and Pete flips the light on.

“I’m guessing you heard that,” Patrick whispers. Brendon scowls harder and rolls over, back facing the both of them. It’s stupid and it’s childish but he _doesn’t care._

Everything hurts. Everything.

“Bren,” Patrick says softly, a note of pleading in his voice. Brendon flinches a bit at the hand Patrick lays on his back and he can hear Pete sigh.

He’s ruined everything. Again. 

“I know it’s not fair,” Pete says, voice gentler than Brendon has ever heard it. “I know what Spencer said was cruel and it’s unfair to ask you to let it go. I know.”

“Then why are you asking me?” Brendon demands, voice cracking. He glares at the wall until his vision blurs, refusing to look at either of them. “What’s the point?”

The bed dips down and Patrick’s arm wraps around Brendon’s waist, pulling him stiffly into a hug. Brendon feels Pete’s hand slide into his hair and rest at his temple.

Brendon takes a deep, shuddering breath.

“Ok,” he says finally, and Patrick squeezes him tight. “Ok.”

\--

“Brendon?”

Brendon ignores Spencer’s voice, as he’s done every time Spencer speaks for the past two weeks, despite Pete and Patrick’s best efforts. Instead, he pushes the chair back from the piano and brushes past the wolf without a word or a glance of acknowledgement, ignoring the fairly large part of him that just wants to scream and yell at Spencer until he physically can’t anymore. 

“Brendon, wait,” Spencer grabs ahold of Brendon’s arm as he passes and Brendon looks at his hand, then glares at Spencer until he lets go, abashed. 

“Don’t touch me again,” Brendon says firmly, then turns to leave again. 

“Brendon, please,” Spencer says softly. “Please, give me a chance.”

“I have,” Brendon snaps. “In fact, I argued for you when you first came here. I told Patrick not to judge you. My mistake.”

“Brendon -”

“It won’t happen again,” Brendon finishes firmly, and pushes past Spencer with more force than was strictly necessary. He envisions Spencer’s defeated face and pretends like he derives pleasure from it, rather than guilt. 

“Brendon, I was wrong,” Spencer pleads desperately. “Please, please listen.”

Brendon scowls and turns to face Spencer, crossing his arms defiantly.

“Listen to _what?”_ Brendon snaps. “What can you possibly say to change my mind?”

“I only survived the Sangsue attack on my clan because my alpha sent me to help a young mother with her child that was going to meet up with us,” Spencer says quickly, like the words burn. “There was no mother. It was a trick. I got back and I couldn’t even _identify_ some of my family. Everyone was dead. I could smell the vampire venom, I could smell other wolves.”

“Spencer,” Brendon says softly. “Spencer, I -”

“We had other children,” Spencer whispers. “They didn’t care. They killed them, too. They killed everyone and took my alpha to kill her and I was the only one - the only one.”

“Why?” Brendon asks. “Why did they attack?”

“My alpha routinely smuggled the turned across borders to escape Sangsue detection,” Spencer replies, eyes on the ground. “We all helped. I - one got captured, confessed to try and save his life. It didn’t. They killed him and came for us. I didn’t have a choice, I ran, I had to run alone, and made it to Georgetown before they found me and burned the town down trying to kill me.”

 _“Spencer,”_ Brendon whispers, taking a step towards he shaking wolf. Spencer looks up from the ground to meet Brendon’s eyes.

“I don’t - I don’t hate the turned,” his voice cracks and Brendon wants to cry. “I was angry, for a while, but I understood why he confessed. I was jealous of the way you were protected. I’m sorry.”

Brendon doesn’t answer, just takes three steps forward and pulls Spencer into a hug, wrapping his arms tight around Spencer’s waist.

“I’m sorry, Spencer,” Brendon murmurs. “I’m so sorry. It’s ok. It’s ok.”

Brendon can feel Spencer’s shuddering breath, and his perpetual stubble scrapes across Brendon’s neck as Spencer buries his face there. Brendon swallows hard because-he knows about _this._ He knows that werewolves … _scent_ their pack. He knows now.

He gives Spencer a gentle squeeze. 

“It’s ok,” he whispers, and holds on tight. 

\--

Sarah comes back with the rest of her group at dusk that night. Pete wakes Brendon up as soon as he hears them approaching and everyone meets in the lobby to asses the newcomers. 

Brendon expected that. He expected everyone to be nervous. He expected to meet a new magic and a new wolf.

He _didn’t_ expect what happened when the wolves met. 

It was out of nowhere, though if Brendon hadn’t been focused on meeting the new magic, (Meagan, her name is, and she’s shy and unsure but sweet and kind) he might have noticed. But he didn’t, and so halfway between Meagan smiling at him and saying hello, he hears Spencer’s voice.

“Linda?”

Brendon’s only heard Spencer’s voice like this once - when he was describing the night the Sangsue attacked. It’s soft, a little hoarse, and Brendon is just as taken aback by it as everyone else.

Everyone else, it seems, except the new wolf.

“Spencer?” she asks, voice raised half an octave. She pushes past Sarah and meets Spencer halfway, _launching_ at him and holding on tight. All Brendon can hear is their muffled voices, exclaiming at each other from where their heads are buried in each other’s shoulders. The new wolf, Linda, tangles both hands in Spencer’s hair and kisses Spencer’s nose before frantically running her hands over his face, his shoulders, Spencer copying her almost exactly. 

He glances at Sarah, hoping for some sort of clue, but she seems just as surprised as he is. He looks over at Patrick, who looks thoughtful, but is equally unhelpful.

All he can gather is that _clearly_ they know each other, but how? 

He isn’t sure until Spencer ducks his head, almost bowing to Linda - then it hits him.

“That’s his alpha,” he whispers, amazed. “That’s her!”

Pete and Sarah meet eyes as Brendon watches in wonder as the two wolves cling to each other desperately. 

\--

Brendon doesn’t eavesdrop, not normally. But he was on his way to find Patrick and the conversation drew him in almost against his will.

“Would you mind?” Sarah sounds anxious- as anxious as vampires ever sound, at least. “Your hospitality is more than -”

“Sarah, having you here is not a burden,” Pete says simply. “You can stay as long as you like. We’re all glad to have you here.”

“Linda and Spencer, they’re going to need -”

“I know,” Pete says simply. “They’re welcome to stay, too, when they return. It’s safe here.”

“They just need a few days,” Sarah says. “To decompress.”

“Understandable,” Pete replies with a laugh. “They can go where and when they’d like.”

“Thank you, Pete,” Sarah says gratefully. “Linda having one of hers survive has changed her entire life. She - it almost destroyed her, losing everyone. This is the best thing that could have happened.”

“I believe it,” Pete says. “Let’s hope it’s the beginning of good changes to come.”

“Pete,” Spencer’s voice nearly makes Brendon jump. “Everything you’ve done, despite -”

“Spencer,” Pete interrupts. “Mistakes happen. You’ve more than made up for them. You always have a place here if you want it.”

“Thank you,” Spencer whispers.

“You and Linda go,” Pete replies. “Come back when you wish.”

“We’ll leave in the morning,” Linda says. Her voice is soft, but Brendon can feel the authority in it. “Thank you for taking care of Spencer.”

Brendon swallows.

\--

The words are still repeating in his head after he meets Patrick and leaves again. They’re bouncing around and around and he can’t stop thinking about the what-ifs.

What if they decide to leave forever?

What if they get hurt?

What if -

“Brendon,” this time, Spencer’s voice does make Brendon jump, and he whirls around intending to smack him for sneaking up.

Instead, Spencer catches him and drags him into the nearest bedroom, kicking the door shut and pressing Brendon against the wall.

“Spencer, what -”

“Shut up,” Spencer says firmly, and kisses him.

Brendon’s mind shorts out immediately. After the first few shocked seconds, he shakes himself and presses forward insistently, kissing back with everything he’s got.

“God, _fuck,”_ Spencer’s voice is low, dark, and it sends a shiver through Brendon’s body. He tilts his head back, letting Spencer lay biting kisses down his throat while he shakes apart between the wall and Spencer’s body. 

He’s _never_ felt like this before. It’s like everything in him has been stripped away and replaced with a blind, desperate need for _Spencer_ and he feels like he’s drowning in the best possible way.

“Please,” he gasps, clutching at Spencer’s shoulders. _“Please.”_

Spencer listens, yanking Brendon’s shirt up and off and replacing it with his lips, with kisses and nips that make Brendon’s knees go weak. He cries out and arches back when Spencer reaches his hip and he burns all over with the sensation.

“I want,” Spencer growls into Brendon’s ear, and he nods desperately. 

“Yes,” he gasps. _“Yeah.”_

He lets Spencer push him back, stumbling slightly until he hits the bed and falls back. Spencer immediately crawls over him, pinning him to the bed and resuming his attack on Brendon’s neck. Brendon moans, writhing as Spencer abandons his neck to kiss him instead, deep and hard and filthy. 

Somehow, Spencer manages to get Brendon’s pants open and off as he kisses Brendon senseless, and that’s _fantastic,_ every inch of Spencer’s hot skin against Brendon’s cold skin is like nothing he’s ever felt. 

_“Jesus Christ,”_ Brendon yelps as Spencer’s wandering mouth reappears between his legs, licking and kissing at Brendon’s hole like it’s his main goal. Brendon’s breathing stutters out into a low moan and he instinctively pushes back into Spencer, crying out as Spencer’s fingers slide into him hard and fast. 

“I want to fuck you,” Spencer groans. “Brendon, I need to fuck you.”

“What the fuck are you waiting for?” Brendon whines, gasping as Spencer adds a third finger. “Please, please, c’mon -”

Spencer’s far bigger than the only other guy Brendon’s done this with, and he’s not messing around, either. Brendon’s barely past the stretch and burn when Spencer begins moving, hard and fast and _perfect._

Brendon can’t form words, can’t make a sound other than a moan, and he realizes he’s going to come a split second before he does. Stars explode behind his eyes and he whines desperately as Spencer speeds up until his rhythm falters, and Brendon feels him finish, breathing hard.

Brendon’s whole body is loose, pliant, and he wraps his arms and legs around Spencer as he collapses on top of Brendon. He nuzzles at Brendon’s neck, breathing him in, and Brendon giggles as he realizes Spencer’s scenting him again, scenting _them._

Spencer rolls off Brendon, but doesn’t go far, dragging Brendon with him and tucking Brendon into his arms. Brendon’s come is probably all over Spencer by now, but he doesn’t seem to care. He buries his face into Brendon’s hair and breathes in again, almost purring with contentment.

Brendon feels warm for the first time since he was turned, and he curls in close and falls asleep.

\--

He wakes up alone.

It’s not surprising - a glance at the window tells him it’s late afternoon at least, and Spencer’s probably outside. Brendon stretches, grinning at the slight ache Spencer left behind and giggling stupidly.

He covers his face with his hands and laughs helplessly, the memory of Spencer’s kisses, Spencer’s _body,_ still feeling like a vivid dream. If he hadn’t woken up in a room that was clearly not his, he would have thought it was a dream.

Well, that and the dried come on his stomach.

He grimaces and rolls out of bed, reaching for his clothes and intending to head for a shower before Pete notices. He’s not against _telling_ Pete, he’d just prefer if Pete didn’t find out by seeing the evidence. So to speak.

He almost makes it to the bathroom before Patrick sees him.

“Hello, Brendon,” Patrick grins, and Brendon is so grateful he doesn’t have the sense of smell that Pete does. “Why are you awake?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Brendon lies. “I was gonna shower.”

Patrick ruffles his hair. 

“I hope the wolves left some hot water,” he jokes. “They took incredibly long showers. Probably cause they knew it’d be a while.”

“A while until what?” Brendon frowns. Patrick looks at him quizzically.

“Until they’re back?” he says slowly. “Spencer said he told you. They left? They don’t know when or if they’ll be back. You don’t remember?”

“No,” Brendon says softly, heart sinking and the world seemingly crumbling around him. “I didn’t remember.”

“Well, you’re tired,” Patrick says, his tone suspicious. “You’ll remember.”

“They might not be back?” Brendon asks, voice cracking. Patrick narrows his eyes.

“Spencer said probably not,” he replies slowly. “What’s going on?”

Brendon covers his face with his shaking hands.

“Nothing,” he whispers. “Nothing at all.”

He turns and runs. 

He’s always been slower than the others, slow at running and at moving compared to the ones that have spent their whole lives in one body, but he isn’t the slowest around. He’s faster than Joe and Zack.

He’s faster than Patrick, and eludes him easily even as Patrick chases him, slipping down the stairs and out the door before Patrick makes it down the hall. 

Outside, the sunlight is blocked by trees and clouds, but he barely notices, running from the hotel and into the woods before he really comes to that as a conscious decision. He runs blindly, runs frantically, the hotel falling out of sight in no time and tears burn and sting his eyes.

He’s so stupid. He’s so fucking stupid. He should have _known,_ should have realized Spencer was just acting on impulse, should have been able to smell Spencer _tricking_ him with pheromones, making him believe something that wasn’t true. He should have been stronger and smarter, because he can see it now, he can see exactly what really happened, and he can see clearer and clearer with each gulp of fresh air that chased the memory of the haze he seemed to be in only a few hours ago. 

He’s such a fucking idiot.

He fights the urge to collapse right there and cry until he can’t anymore, but he refuses, presses forward, running towards a destination he’s not even sure of.

He glances behind him for any sign of Patrick - or worse, Pete - but sees nothing and charges forward again.

At that moment, something large and heavy slams into his head and he hits the ground with a cry of pain. There’s laughter and Brendon blinks through the lights that exploded in his eyes on impact to make out Jon.

Fuck.

He’s flanked by two magics and a vampire and Brendon scrambles to his feet, knowing he’s not fast enough to outrun them but needing to _try,_ he has to try. 

It’s useless. The vampire catches his wrist easily and yanks him back hard enough to knock him off balance again. 

“Thank you for making this so much easier than we planned,” Jon says with a smirk. “That’s so kind of you.”

Brendon kicks out at him and is rewarded with a shock of electricity generated by one of the magics. He gasps in pain and his legs collapse as the vampire laughs. 

“It’s determined, I’ll give it that,” she says. “I expected it to be like the other leeches, whining and crying and begging, but at least this feral has half a sense of honor.”

“Halfbloods don’t have honor,” Jon snorts. “It’ll be begging in a heartbeat, I promise you.”

“Can’t wait,” a magic says dryly. “Can we go now?”

“Absolutely,” the vampire smirks down at Brendon, who has a split second to panic before Jon brings the pipe up and smashes it over his head again, and Brendon loses consciousness.

\--

Brendon isn’t aware of much in between the time he was knocked out and the time they pulled him from the van, but when he regains full consciousness, he immediately wishes he hadn’t. His head throbs steadily and every movement he makes is agony, but the worst part of all is the screams of pain and desperate pleas for mercy he can hear all around him.

He lies limp and still, hoping it’ll buy him some time, but no luck. Jon slaps him across the face, breaking any facade immediately, and pushes him forward, forcing him to walk ahead of them, towards the structures he can see in the distance.

It’s dawn, Brendon can tell, and he has a moment of sheer terror. It was day when he left, and it’s day now, so how far away from Pete is he?

Far enough that his chances of rescue are slim.

Brendon bites his lip against a terrified whine, and stumbles where Jon shoves him, through a huge door and into an -

Arena?

Brendon looks around quickly, seeing the ... the _spectators_ filing in, taking up the seats and laughing with each other.

There’s two rows of the turned, tied up and helplessly miserable. They’re facing the cement arena floor, and Brendon can see at least two of the turned vampires and werewolves clinging to each other as best they can through their bonds.

It’s clear that whatever happens here, it goes beyond the ties of species, and Brendon can’t stop the trembling taking over his body.

“Sir!” Jon’s voice makes Brendon flinch hard, and there’s a loud jeer of laughter behind him. Jon ignores it, looking instead to the huge wolf that they’ve approached. He’s lounging, surrounded by fervent born werewolves apparently desperate for his attention, and even some born vampires - one sits on his lap and Brendon shudders as the vampire … _caresses_ is the only word Brendon can think of, and he is more scared than he has ever been.

“Jon,” the wolf replies, sounding bored. “Can I help you?”

“I’d like to use my submission now,” Jon says, yanking Brendon forward until he falls to the floor at the wolf’s feet. The werewolf looks disdainfully at Brendon.

“It smells like another wolf,” he says doubtfully. “How’d you get it?”

“Took it smoothly,” Jon reassures him. “No one noticed.”

“Very well,” the wolf sighs. “Go and submit it, then. I doubt anyone would bet on it, it’s a child. Physically, at least. It’ll surely die first.”

“It’s more of a personal vendetta this time, sir,” Jon says. “I’d gladly forfeit a bet to see it die.”

“Wish granted,” the vampire on the wolf’s lap smirks, and the wolf slides a hand down the vampire’s chest.

“Thank you,” Jon tells them, and yanks Brendon back to his feet. He shoves Brendon forward, sending him sprawling to the ground in front of the chained up other turned, and Brendon meets eyes with an older vampire, one who’d clearly been turned a while.

He whines unconsciously, heart breaking as he realizes - he left. He didn’t tell Pete.

He’ll never see Pete and Patrick again.

He whimpers brokenly and tries to struggle, to push Jon off, but it doesn’t work.

“No,” the vampire whispers. “No, please, he’s a baby. _Please.”_

“Shut up,” Jon snarls, kicking the vampire in the ribs. The wolf next to her bares his teeth and snarls at Jon.

“You’re a _monster,”_ he spits. Jon laughs.

“No,” he disagrees. “I’m normal.”

With that he forcibly drags Brendon the rest of the way and tosses him bodily into the arena, where Brendon has a split second to try and get up before two magics seize him and push him against a pole, tying him with rope before wrapping a thick chain around his body, locking it with a _click_ of finality. 

It hits Brendon suddenly as the sky grows lighter above him, and the other three vampires around him look horrified. This is a _game_ to the Sangsue. They _bet_ on the vampires tied to these posts and they force other turned to watch.

Brendon feels like throwing up as he realizes that where they’re positioned, the sun will rise, travel across the sky, and set without ever casting them in shadow.

They’re all going to burn to death, and the Sangsue _bet_ on who will die last. 

Brendon looks over at the mountain in the distance, where the sun is preparing to rise, and finally cries. 

\--

Spencer feels guilty.

He feels guilty and he _knows_ Linda can tell he feels guilty. He knows because she keeps glancing over at him as they walk and frowning a little, looking him up and down and huffing.

She finally asks.

“What is it, Spencer?” she demands. “I know it’s not what happened. I can smell that. You’re never this quiet unless you _know_ you’ve done something wrong.”

Spencer’s silent, because he’s not sure how to confess that he slept with Brendon and left, just like that. He’s not sure how to explain it without Linda being completely and utterly disappointed in him, even though he knows he completely deserves it.

The midday sun is hot above them, beating down on their backs as they walk. Sweat trickles down Spencer’s neck and he sighs.

“I -” he begins and Linda stops walking, turns completely toward him, and grabs his wrist. She’s serious.

“Tell me right now,” she snaps. “Tell me what you did. Tell me and we can fix it. You need to own up, Spencer, it’s always been your problem.”

“I think I - I think that when I slept with Brendon, I think I may have released the mating scent,” he rushes through, shame curling around his heart. Linda blinks.

“Back up, you _slept_ with Brendon?” she asks, a hint of a smile playing at her lips. _“Brendon?_ Pete’s Brendon? Why did you do that?”

Spencer shoots her a look and she laughs.

“Oh my _Lord,_ Spencer, I knew you’d found your mate, I could smell it,” she laughs. “So you think you may have influenced him? Is that it? That’s something we can easily fix, Spencer, there’s no need to worry.” 

Spencer stays silent and the smile slides off Linda’s face.

“What else,” she asks, voice flat and dangerous. Spencer swallows hard.

“I left,” he whispers, and the guilt hits him like a train. “I left.”

“You left,” Linda says slowly, comprehension dawning on her. “Oh my god. You _left.”_

Spencer nods, eyes on the ground.

Linda slaps him.

“How dare you!” she snaps. “How dare you do that? You gave him the mating scent, you amplified any feelings he has for you, and you up and _left?_ I thought you were better than that. Spencer, I thought you were honorable.”

“I’m -” Spencer begins, but is interrupted by a long, drawn out, desperate chorus of screams.

Linda whips around, facing the direction of the screaming, and inhales deeply.

“There’s vampires,” she says slowly, brow wrinkling. “A lot of them. And wolves. There’s - what’s that smell …?”

“Burning,” Spencer whispers and the scent sorts itself out. “Jesus Christ, Linda, there are vampires burning!”

Linda moves almost before Spencer is finished speaking and he scrambles to follow her, towards the screams that are growing louder, and wondering just what the hell is happening.

Linda stops dead in her tracks and stares, gaping, ahead. Spencer follows her line of sight and goes still, dread coiling in his stomach.

It’s an arena. An arena of some sort. Spencer can see it’s full of spectators, all laughing, but -laughing at what?

“Oh my god,” Linda says, voice wavering. 

Spencer notices it a half second later.

Four vampires, tied to poles on the arena floor, burning and crying in agony from the sun directly overhead. 

Spencer can see that at least two are dead already, and it hits him immediately.

“Holy shit, it’s the Sangsue,” he chokes out. “They’re turned. They’re torturing them to death, Linda!”

“Oh my god,” she repeats, and looks to Spencer with wide eyes. “I can’t - I can’t leave them here to die, Spencer. It’s -”

“It’s horrific,” Spencer finishes, and nods. “There are two left alive, Linda. We each grab one and run. They won’t expect us.”

Linda nods towards the seats.

“The awning is cloth,” she says. “It’s retractable.”

Spencer grits his teeth. 

“It’ll distract them,” he agrees. “But -”

“It’s a lever, it’s right there,” a voice from behind them makes Spencer and Linda jump and bare their teeth. The little werewolf that spoke flinches back.

“Are you going to rescue them?” she whispers. “I escaped but I can’t leave. One of them is just...he’s my age.”

“You’re a child,” Linda says, cupping the girl’s face in her hands. “When were you turned?”

“I was seven in human years,” she answers softly. “I’m twelve in human years now.”

“Oh my god,” Spencer whispers. “You got out?”

She nods.

“They didn’t think about my size,” her lip trembles. “I slipped from the shackles. My pack sister is here, too, but she told me to go, to go without her.”

“It’s ok,” Linda whispers. “It’s going to be ok.”

“I heard them shoot everyone as I ran,” she wipes at her face. “So I have to get out. And I can’t let them die. The little vampire is someone’s and they probably miss him.”

“Can you pull the lever by yourself?” Spencer asks, and the girl nods. 

“It’s not heavy,” she says, and Linda nods.

“I’m Linda, this is Spencer,” she says. “Go to the lever and count to ten, then pull it. Then run, over there, and we’ll get you. Promise.”

“I’m Hayley,” the girl volunteers. “And yes. Ok.”

Linda kisses Hayley’s forehead.

“You’re very brave,” she tells her. “Go.”

She runs off, and Linda immediately turns to Spencer.

“Let’s go,” she says, and Spencer grabs her hand.

“Let’s go,” he agrees, and they turn toward the arena again.

\--

Brendon can’t form a coherent thought, can’t make any sound that isn’t a scream, can barely breathe. The only word that registers through the fog in his mind is _please_ , but he can’t vocalize it, can’t beg for mercy even if he wanted.

He’s not even sure if he’s been here for an hour or for a day or for a year, he just knows it _hurts,_ it hurts and he wants it to stop. He wants to go home.

He can’t even cry real tears because the UV has evaporated almost everything in in body and he knows he won’t be alive much longer.

He wishes he could tell Pete thank you, hug him tight and tell him goodbye. He wants Patrick to hold him, to tell him he loves him, and he wants to thank him, too. He even wants to see Spencer, he wants to tell him _it’s ok,_ wants to tell him he understands that Spencer got scared. 

He wants a lot of things. 

He dimly realizes he’s not the only one screaming now, but he doesn’t know why. He can’t make out any reasoning in his mind, just knows the agony, how he can’t hold still, can’t stop writhing.

Loud voices make him sob, make him try to speak, try to beg, but he can’t, he can’t and he’s going to die. He’s going to die. He’s going to -

Sudden, immediate relief, though his skin still burns and almost sizzles, it’s all leftover. The direct light is gone, replaced by - by darkness?

Has he died? He can’t have died, he’s still in pain and still incoherent, but where has the sun gone? And the ground? He’s moving, he can register he is moving, but he just _doesn’t understand._

Maybe this is just the final moments before he dies. Maybe this is it.

He closes his eyes and cries.

\--

He wakes up with a terrified scream, loud and sudden and unintentional, and someone grabs him gently, tries to talk to him, but he can’t hear them, he can’t -

It feels like cool liquid rushes through him and he blinks hard, the fuzz fading away to a clear picture, to comprehension.

It’s dark, but he can see like never before and he reaches out desperately, crying because he doesn’t know why Patrick is here, Patrick isn’t dead!

“Patrick,” he tries, but he can’t speak, his throat hurts and Patrick pulls him close. His eyes are red and swollen and he kisses Brendon’s forehead over and over. Brendon whimpers and he feels Pete’s teeth at his neck, gentle.

Cool reliefs hits him again, and his eyes flutter closed, bending the the sedating venom immediately. 

\--

He survived. He was saved. 

Patrick asks, but he can’t answer how, can barely remember anything after the sun rose. He tells them, haltingly, almost everything that happened, glossing over why he’d run even though he knows Patrick will ask later.

He doesn’t look at them, can’t bear the pain in Patrick’s eyes or the cold fury and devastation in Pete’s. 

He knows how close he came to death. He knows it was a matter of minutes, that he barely got here in time for Patrick and Andy to save him.

The burns on his body are healing, though the pain is completely gone. He still feels, though, still feels afraid, terrified when he’s alone, still barely talks and avoids everyone, frightened.

With each day, the physical reminder of what the Sangsue had done fades, but as much as he tries, he can’t fix what they did inside.

\--

The wolves come back a month later, and they come back with horrible stories, stories of how they’d come across this arena, this place where they burned vampires to death for fun. 

Linda describes haltingly, tucked close to Sarah and trembling, how they’d tried to get the only two still living, but that only one finally survived, and they’d found her clan and delivered her there. 

Linda cries when she talks about the little turned werewolf that had helped them, how she’d been shot by the Sangsue and killed immediately, before the silver had even begun to work. 

Everyone is silent but no one is as silent as Spencer, standing off to the side and staring at the ground.

\--

“Stop,” Brendon demands, voice hoarse from disuse. “Stop right now.”

Spencer does, but he doesn’t turn to look at Brendon.

“It was an interesting story you guys had,” Brendon’s voice shakes. “‘Cause, see, I have a really similar story. About an arena and being tied to a pole and dying, dying until someone saved me.”

“And?” Spencer fails his attempt at nonchalance, and Brendon bites his lip.

“I think you had two survivors, not one,” he says softly. “I don’t know why you didn’t tell Linda I survived. I’m not going to even try to understand that one. But I’m not that stupid, Spencer. I know you saved my life. I got home somehow, and it sure as hell wasn’t me walking.”

Spencer is silent.

“I’m not mad,” Brendon whispers. “I was, at first. But I’m not, not really, because I know you were scared. But please, please don’t pretend you didn’t save me, you weren’t there, you didn’t see what the Sangsue did to me. You saved me.”

“Spencer,” Patrick’s voice cracks, coming from nowhere, Pete silent behind him, eyes fierce. “Spencer, did you - did you?”

Spencer’s breath hitches, and he spins around to face Brendon for the first time.

“Brendon,” he breathes, and the look of desperation on his face makes Brendon want to cry. “Brendon, you’re -”

Brendon crosses the distance between them with confidence he didn’t know he still had, and kisses Spencer.

“Yeah,” he says, blinking back tears. “Yeah.”

**Author's Note:**

> brencer is life at smalltalktorture.tumblr.com


End file.
